


Psychological Demons

by Daegaer



Category: Cyteen Series - C. J. Cherryh, Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Azi, Demons, Free Will, Gen, Psychology, tape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-03-03
Updated: 2004-03-03
Packaged: 2019-08-08 22:16:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16437836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/pseuds/Daegaer





	Psychological Demons

Grant looks down at the keyboard and watches his fingers move across it as if they are not connected to him. He knows that when he looks at the screen he'll see line upon line of perfect code that tells a psychological distress to go away, it's not wanted anymore. He wishes his own would go away, but he's not so stupid as to walk up to some Alpha-licensed CIT and ask for help. Behind him, across their little office, Justin is working hard. _Too hard_ , Grant thinks, writing tape that goes deep, level upon level. Deeper than it needs, because Justin can't leave well enough alone. He wishes he could say that, could tell Justin to take some time off, but he knows he wouldn't be listened to. There are times when Justin looks at him and sees Grant, sees his brother, his lover, his friend. And there are times when he sees just another azi, worried about his CIT. He doesn't like Grant to worry, because that makes him look like an azi, because God knows CITs are all models of stability, aren't they, and they never worry about anything.

'I'm going out for a walk,' Grant says. There is only a cursory answer.

'I keep telling you I can help,' the dark-haired CIT murmurs in his ear.

 _You're just a glitch in the tape,_ Grant thinks. He sees the man grin and knows he's right. No one's telepathic, so the man is just part of his own psychoses.

'Maybe so, but I could make you a real boy.'

 _I am real,_ Grant thinks, buying a cup of tea. It tastes vile.

'And that's not even your money you bought it with.'

'Shut up!' Grant isn't sure that he didn't say that aloud. The Delta behind the counter is looking at him oddly. It's not like she'll say anything to her Supervisor, he thinks, and leaves.

'You're just a bunch of subliminal messages played in a baby's ear,' the man says outside, as Grant drops crumbs in the water for the koi. He raises his narrow, pale face to the sky and Grant notices for the first time that he is wearing sunglasses. He is immensely pleased by this, because it shows that he is tailoring the hallucination to fit his surroundings, and now that he has proof he can begin to work on fixing it.

The man looks at him, a flicker of attention and back to the sky. 'I always wear sunglasses.' He smiles lazily. 'I wore them last night. They didn't spoil my view of the show, I have excellent night vision.' The smile grows a deal sharper. 'Is he _always_ that selfish in bed?'

Grant stares down at the fish. He's never had such a thought about Justin, never.

'You should start, then, because seriously? I'd be getting pissed off. But then _I_ have a normal mind.'

By the time Grant gets back to the office the voice in his ear is a continual hiss about Justin's selfishness, Justin's paternalistic snobbery, the unfairness of society, the fact that some random kid on the street has more legal rights than an adult, hard-working, responsible azi. When Justin asks if he wants to get some lunch he snaps at him and keeps working.

'Why are you doing this?' Grant asks, after another week.

'Me? I'm not doing anything. I'm a _psychosis_ , aren't I? I'm part of your own mind. You're talking to yourself.' The sharp grin gets a little sharper. 'Unless you're ready to do a deal, of course.'

Grant is willing to do anything that will let him sleep. The man takes his hand in a firm, warm grip. Grant isn't used to people shaking his hand. The man quirks a smile at him.

'That's because you're property. No one shakes hands with their luxury toys. But that's all going to change for you.'

Grant suddenly wants to be someone who can expect to shake hands. He wants it more than sleep, he realises, and looks at the man hungrily.

'Oh, I can see we're going to get on very well. I want you to do a little something for me. Such a little thing, and it's a good thing. Want to see?'

Grant does. The hand on his tightens, the other hand is raised to his face, fingers light on his brow. Grant closes his eyes against the luminous gaze, and gasps in surprise and pleasure. He's studied his own psych-sets, he's much more aware of how he works than most of his kind, and he's a trained tape-designer. He feels the mental habits shift, the safeguards come down. It feels dangerous and delightful. When he opens his eyes the world seems brighter.

'What --,' he manages.

'Free will,' the man says, looking at him closely and perhaps enviously. 'Like it? Don't you think everyone deserves to feel like that?'

A minute ago Grant would have said _No. Look at the mess CITs make of their lives. This isn't for us._ But selfishness is suddenly beguilingly attractive, and he fears the man will change things back. He nods.

'Good. All you have to do is modify your little programmes, I'll tell you how. You do that, and you can keep what I've given you, you can keep your life, you can keep your friend - or not, it's really up to you. No one can say I'm not generous. Do everything I want, and you'll wake up one day with the world a better place for people like you.'

'Why?' Grant asks, and the man smiles. It's a cold, thin smile.

'You're opening up a whole new market,' he says. 'You people have been very frustrating, you know. But I knew I'd find the right person eventually, there's always someone who can't wait to _know_. You're part of a very select group.' The man steps back, begins to walk down the hall, and pauses. Over his shoulder he says, 'You'll be getting a visit from someone I know. He'll be very anxious to get you to agree with him, but he's not the kind of person who actually pays out in advance. You're better off with me, ok?' He waves casually, says, 'Ciao,' and walks away.

Grant breathes deeply, feeling newness all through him. He heads back to work, the knowledge he was promised seeping through his mind like venom.

Future generations will talk of what he will do.


End file.
